Compromise Your Reality
by Scoobert0
Summary: Castiel is taken by an ancient being for mysterious reasons. After several weeks he's found, with scarce memories and obviously having been tortured. The Winchesters soon realize something isn't right, but can they stop it before it ends up killing them?
1. Prologue

**AN:** **Ok, so this is just a bit of a teaser for the monster of a plot bunny that has invaded my brain. It is not going to be a happy fic at all, very dark and disturbing. I'm going to work away on this beast and try to finish the whole thing by the end of the week and start typing it up by the weekend. Proper warnings and disclaimers to come, rating may go up because of the level of disturbing imagery and whatnot.**

* * *

><p>Full consciousness was a rare thing as of late for him. Mostly there were just brief flashes of awareness. This time, like every other time, his screams echoed around him and the metallic sent of blood filled his nostrils.<p>

He hurt, the pain was constantly searing through his body, when he was aware enough to realize he even had a body. He thought his eyes were open sometimes, but he could never be certain. Open or shut, there was only the darkness that had been his constant companion since whatever was happening to him began.

Finding himself fully aware of his surroundings once more, he immediately sensed something was different. There wasn't any screaming, he couldn't smell the blood and there wasn't any pain. Even though he couldn't see anything, he could feel another presence nearby. He held his breath, waiting for when this brief respite would surly end. Then a soft hand cupped his cheek, making him flinch away violently.

"Oh sweet child, you mustn't fear me. I am your salvation in all this. You shall thank me someday, little angel." A soft musical voice cooed as fingers trailed lightly over his forehead and down his temple. The touch vanished and a shiver passed through his body. The voice hummed a sad melody for a few minutes, lulling him into a relaxed state, before becoming quiet.

Then the screams, blood and pain were back, louder and more agonizing than before. A sob escaped him as he prayed for it to stop. For everything to just end.


	2. Chapter 1

**WARNING: Exceptionally graphic and detailed scenes of torture as well as the heartbreaking creepiness of… Well you'll have to read to find that out. But I'm serious, if you're squeamish in the least bit, I would suggest you turn back now.**

**Disclaimer:** I'm starting to think it's a good thing I don't own any of the boys… So many things are wrong with my brain.

**AN:** No lies people, this is some _very_ dark stuff. I started taking my meds again, since I might be getting a job in the school district, and this… Thing, popped up and took over my brain. And just to be clear: I am not a sociopath, psychopath, or anything like that. (as far as I know) I lead a very happy life and have healthy social relationships, so there really is no way for me to rationalize where all this came from. I've given myself nightmares from this crap a couple times since I started writing it, just to give you an idea how freaked out _I_ am by this.

Also, this is set a couple years after season 6, so obviously Au-ish. Essentially: Cas got rid of the Purgatory souls and everyone has kissed and made up, so to speak, over everything.

* * *

><p>His mind struggled to remember something, anything, about the time before this living Hell he was currently trapped in. But nothing came forth, there was only pain now. A small voice in the back of his head tried to tell him that someone was going to come for him and save him from this nightmare. As much as he wanted to believe that voice, the agony of his current existence drowned it out.<p>

Time didn't have meaning anymore for him; there was only pain and brief moments of nothing. While those moments of nothing were few and far between, he relished them. Sometimes he would remember the feeling of soft touches and a sad melody being hummed in between tortures. He longed for these reprieves, clung to the hope that he would be granted one whenever the pain became too much. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept him from just allowing himself to die.

A sharp pain intruded on his hazy thoughts and brought him back full force into his current torture. Even though he was still in the dark, with nothing for him to see, he could tell there were pins and needles protruding from his body. He could feel every protrusion shifting in his skin with every twitch and breath.

It had started at his feet and continued up his leg and hips. Assorted pins, needles and other sharp objects of various lengths and gauges were slowly and meticulously stuck into his already abused flesh. Their placements were precise, meant to cause the most pain possible, hitting never endings and penetrating bone.

Currently, the blunt tip of a low gauged needle was being forced through his navel. A hoarse cry escaped him as it went deep into his body. He heard an amused huff from his torturer as more needles and pins were thrust into his flesh, muscles and organs.

Once his middle had been thoroughly skewered, his torturer moved on to sticking his fingers, hands and arms. At every joint, a pin was dug in between the bones and twisted cruelly. He gasped and whimpered with each new intrusion of a foreign object to his aching body.

The strange thought of how there must be hundreds, if not a thousand, points of intrusion on his body at this point passed through his head.

A freezing hand trailed over the too warm skin on his torso, making him shiver and moan pathetically. Then the hand withdrew and the work on his chest began. His torturer made sure to impale each and every rib with as many of the sharp instruments as physically possible, drawing out chocked out noises of agony from him. Through the haze of pain he felt a sickening squelch in his chest as several thin needles were simultaneously shoved through his heart. A broken scream fell from his bloody lips, before he joyfully answered the call of oblivion.

* * *

><p>It confused him, how he was unable to die no matter what was done to him. He would be a bloody, torn-up mess from the tortures he was put through, when suddenly he'd be left alone for short periods of time. During these breaks, he could feel the damage done to him reversing, leaving him whole once more. He briefly thought that he was already dead and this must be Hell, but the voice in the back of his head was adamant that it wasn't. Fleeting images, sounds and smells of what could only be true Hell flashed in his brain before his mind shut down on him.<p>

* * *

><p>His next meeting with awareness brought with it the ghastly sensation of skin being separated from muscle. A wet tearing sound reached his ears, causing him to gag as he fought not to throw up. The nerve endings throughout his body began sending signals to his brain again, brining the burning agony of raw and exposed tissues to his attention. He keened lowly as he felt the skin of his neck being stripped away.<p>

A hand fisted itself in his hair and yanked back, pulling the skin of his scalp taunt. There was searing pain as serrated metal began sawing back and forth across his hairline. Whimpering, he felt think trails of blood, his blood, streaming down his face and mingling with the tears of agony that already wetted his cheeks. A ragged sob escaped from him as the rest of his scalp was torn off.

Then the hand wrapped around his ear, broken fingernails scraping against his skin. With a sharp tug, it was ripped clean off his skull. His screams tore at his throat, bringing up blood as they left him. The sound of them echoing through wherever he was hadn't even begun to fade before the process was repeated on the other side of his head. Without pause, a finger hooked under the loose skin at the top of his forehead and began to drag the flap of skin down, centimeter by centimeter, at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Slowly his senses deserted him, and he didn't fight it. Though he was still vaguely aware of what was happening to him, his body became ignorant of the horrors being wrecked upon it. His mind soon followed, finding a peaceful medium between unconscious and awareness.

* * *

><p>Some undeterminable time later, he sensed a change in the environment around him and unwillingly broke out of the trance-like state he'd fallen into. As he became more aware, he could feel a comforting hand resting on his battered chest, directly above his heart. Soft humming of a now familiar melody trickled in through his once again whole ears. He sighed deeply in relief as he realized he'd been granted reprieve. Soothing hands came up and cupped his face gently while soft thumbs traced lightly under his eyes.<p>

"Open your eyes for me, sweet child." A melodic voice whispered to him, the speaker's breath ghosting over his face.

He frowned in confusion. Weren't his eyes already open? He could have sworn that they were, showing him but blackness. Struggling, he fought against the dried blood and tears that was keeping them sealed and preventing him from opening his eyes. He twitched strongly when a damp finger began brushing the hindrance away. As the finger continued its work, he relaxed slightly. When the task was done, the hands cupped his face once more, thumbs caressing over the corners of his eyes softly in encouragement to open them.

Slowly, he cracked them open, expecting nothing but the darkness that already surrounded him. Instead, there was light. It wasn't overly bright, but it had been too long since he'd seen anything except black that he had to clamp his eyes shut tight again. A low mewl snuck past his lips as he turned away slightly.

"Come, sweet child, you must open your eyes now." The voice encouraged as a hand carded through his hair.

Wanting to please the voice and its soothing hands, and perhaps earn a longer stay from his tortures by doing so, he cracked his eyes open once more. Squinting, he found that the light was even softer now, for which he was grateful, even though it still stung and made his eyes water. There was a gentle tug in his hair, towards which he tilted his head. He peered up to where he hoped his salvation's face would be. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly as a small gasp came out.

Long, pale floated around a hauntingly beautiful androgynous face. Large grey eyes looked down on him with some undeterminable emotion or thought dancing in them. There was a soft smile on full lips as he continued to stare up at this perfect being.

"I am Kathilde, the God-Mother." The being told him, using her finger tips to smooth away clumps of hair that clumps of hair that clung to his forehead.

He blinked languidly up at her in response. His brow furrowed slightly as the voice in his head hinted that he should do something in response, but what? He knew it should concern him that he didn't know, but his thoughts and memories were clouded. There was something wrong with him, he could feel it, and it scared him.

Soft fingers trailed over the side of his face, drawing his attention back to Kathilde, "Worry not, sweet child. Nothing can harm you whilst you are in my arms."

She reached down and easily lifted his upper body, wrapping her arms around him securely and pulling him towards her chest. He automatically went limp, her touch relaxing him instantly. She began humming as she gently rocked him, her sad melody lulling him.

"There, there, my little angel, you shall find salvation soon enough." She whispered in his ear as he began to doze off.

Something in her words however, lit a spark within him that quickly grew into a raging inferno. Images, sounds, smells, tastes, _memories_ cascaded through his mind. Reflexively he pushed away from the God-Mother, her touch suddenly burning him, as he clutched as his head and let loose a howl of distress. He sensed, rather than saw, the being behind him rise up. Letting go of his head, he pushed himself to his feet and scrambled away, turning to face her. Hunched over and breathing heavily, he sized up the woman standing before him. Annoyance flickered on her strong features briefly, but the overall look of serene calm remained.

"Child, you must calm yourself. I am not here to hurt you." She told him firmly.

He found himself laughing harshly at her words, wincing as more memories crashed into him.

"I am no child of yours, heathen." He spat venomously, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He unconsciously raised a hand to cradle his throat. The pain of using his voice was worse than he had anticipated. There was a faint taste of blood at the back of his mouth, but he ignored it as he took a few more steps back from the God-Mother.

Cathode's expression of calm and reassurance shifted to one of boredom and arrogance as she looked down at him.

"Tell me then, who are you? Do you even know anymore?" Her tone was smug and taunting, accompanied by a devious upward curl of her lips.

He snarled at her, knowing she'd done this to him in that instant, taken his identity and existence from him. The voice in his head was screaming at him, telling him who he was and what he had to do, but it was as though it was in an unknown language. A growl escaped him as he pushed and more memories crashed into him with near physical force, causing him to fall to one knee. Feeling the God-Mother move towards him, he threw a hand up, palm facing out, towards her and instinctively pushing out with the power he could now feel stirring inside himself.

An indignant huff reached his ears and he looked up to see Kathilde standing a few feet away, whatever he was doing preventing her from coming any closer. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he pulled himself up onto his feet again. Eyeing the being in front of him once more, he felt several things fall into place in his head.

"I've heard of you before." He stated roughly, frowning when she raised her head arrogantly.

"Then you know how much older than you I am. Do you honestly think you are a match for me? You can't even remember your name because of what I've done." She laughed as she stalked back and forth in front of him.

Angel. The word had the blaze of power within him swirling in recognition, giving him strength that was both familiar and comforting. Standing tall, he held his shoulders square and thrust his chin up proudly.

"My name is Castiel and I am an angel of the Lord. I am more than a match for you, you wretched creature." He declared, allowing his wings to briefly reveal themselves as he spread them wide.

Cathode's demeanor darkened dramatically with his declaration of identity. The temperature of the room they were faced off in dropped dramatically; ice began to slowly creep across the floor and walls. With malice in her eyes, the god raised her own hand and made a cutting motion through the air. A moment passed before Castiel even reacted to her actions. He tilted his head to the side as he watched her, trying to figure out what she had just attempted. He spared a glance down at himself and found no physical damage to his vessel.

Raising his eyes, they widened in shock when the God-Mother was suddenly directly in front of him. In a smooth, fluid motion her hand snapped out and wrapped itself around his neck. Using her supernatural strength, she utilized her grip to easily drive him down onto the ground. With her hand still around his throat, she easily kept him pinned when he attempted to get up right away. Ice began spreading across his body in thin layers as an evil smirk spread on her face as she forcibly kept him on the floor with ease.

As the initial shock of the sudden assault passed, Castiel began to struggle. He clawed at the hand around his throat, trying to pry it off to no avail. Whatever she had done before was blocking his angelic abilities once again. Reaching internally for his Grace, he gasped as he touched it, the burning cold causing him to physically flinch. Cathode's smirk widened at his reaction, tightening her grip on his neck as she leaned down towards his face.

"I already have your body and your Grace, " She whispered menacingly into his ear as she continued to squeeze his throat, "And sooner or later, I _will_ have your mind. You, my little angel, will be the tool I use to wreak havoc on your precious Winchesters. My revenge on them for all of my children that they have killed is long overdue."

Castiel swiped a hand at her face weakly, his oxygen deprived body barely responding. He choked soundlessly as he tried to squirm out of the iron grip on his neck. There was no way he would allow this evil being to use him, especially to harm the Winchesters.

With hardened resolve, he reached for his Grave again. His back arched off the ground as he tried to fight through the barrier that had been erected around it. Too soon he was forced to abandon his attempt and was left twitching and panting for breath that wouldn't come.

Keeping her hand wrapped around his neck, Kathilde lifted herself and straddled his chest, effectively pinning his arms to his sides as well. He watched her raise her free hand upwards as his vision began blurring and black dots played across everything. She smiled widely as she angled her hand down, holding it in a way that resembled a spade.

"I think we've wasted enough time, don't you? Best we get things back on track. We're going to have to start over from the beginning now, after all." Her tone was casual as she spoke, but there was a dark glimmer in her eyes. And in an instant, that darkness reared up and twisted her beautiful face into a mask resembling a hideous monster's. With an aggressive snarl she speared her hand downwards, directly through his forehead.

It wasn't a killing blow, the use of her powers made it so her hand didn't penetrate his head in the physical sense. She was in his mind, his thoughts, his memories. And she was tearing them to shreds.

His eyes rolled up into his head instantly as his body bucked up in convulsions. He screamed, his mouth wide open, but no sound came out. He could feel the God-Mother in his mind, ripping and scratching at everything she came into contact with. The pain it created was far greater than any physical torture or even Heaven's 're-education' process could ever cause. He could feel Kathilde trying to mold his mind like clay, burying the memories of himself, his life, everything that he was. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was cut off from his Grace and he was physically restrained, not that it would have made a difference with his body as weak as it was. The most he could do was twitch and howl silently in agony.

Then it was gone. There was suddenly nothing. His mind was completely blank as he stared at nothing with wide, vacant eyes.

* * *

><p>Kathilde withdrew herself from the angel and stood gracefully. She looked down at his still form for a moment, contemplating him.<p>

This angel turned out to be more of a challenge than she had anticipated. Finding a different angel to force into her servitude would have probably been much simpler and quicker, but this one would sweeten her revenge on the Winchesters like no other could. Castiel, the angel who fell for humans only to rise back up and become a god for a short time. The semblance of irony in that fact made her want him as her pet even more.

So she resigned herself to wait for him to break. Waiting for the day she could wrap him around her finger with a single word. And she knew that the longer it took to break him, the stronger her hold on him would be when he finally crumbled under her will. None would dare threaten her after that, once she commanded an angel of Heaven.

While she mused, a new presence entered the room, standing off to the side in the shadows, awaiting its orders.

"From the beginning, again." She said to the other, casting a backward glance, "But let us try a different approach this time. Since he adores the Winchesters so much, maybe it'd be best to let them break him. What do you think?"

The figure stepped forward from the shadows, its flesh rippling until it resembled heavy boots, jeans and a plain button up with the sleeves rolled up to its elbows. Its face morphed into strong features with short cropped hair on top of its head. Faintly glowing red eyes closed momentarily and when they opened again they were a stunning pale green.

"I think that's an excellent idea, milady." His deep voice replied smugly with a smirk to match, "From what I hear, Dean Winchester has a pretty good hand when it comes to torture."

"Very good then." Kathilde purred. Kneeling down, she gently brushed her fingers across the angel's forehead. Standing, she turned and started walking away. She paused next to her servant and eyed his guise, approving of the likeness.

"I've made it so he'll be able to remember just enough to make the most use of this." She reached out to cup the doppelganger's chin, "You must make him think that his precious Winchester is the one breaking him."

An evil grin, completely alien on the man's features, broke out on Dean's face, "Of course, God-Mother. They will be done, always."


End file.
